School Daze
by Gryvon
Summary: Gil/Greg. Some days, Greg manages to surprise him speechless.


The first coherent thought that managed to make it through the haze that filled Gil's head the moment he walked into his apartment was that he really needed to put the milk away before he took even one step into the living room. Because that one step would be a fatal mistake that would leave half of the freshly-bought groceries spoilt and then he'd have to go out again.

Grocery shopping really wasn't supposed to be this dangerous.

Turning on his heels, Gil imagined that his left side was blind as he resolutely marched to the kitchen. Greg was grinning like a madman as he bounced around in the living room, dancing to one the CDs from the 'Tolerable' section of their collection in an outfit... in an outfit that he really couldn't afford to think about at the moment and that should be declared illegal in Nevada and the surrounding states.

"Need any help in there?" There was too much humor in Greg's voice to be taken as anything remotely resembling innocent.

Gil had to admit that, reflecting on his past relationships and liaisons, he did tend towards more feminine looking men. Not feminine men, but feminine-looking. There was a distinct difference, at least in his mind, but in his mind Greg had always fallen more towards the male end of the spectrum.

Not anymore.

The milk went on the top shelf, vegetables in the crisper, including Greg's special request of kumquat, two cartons of ice cream and three bags worth of frozen dinners in the large cooler compartment on the left side. The dry goods he left on the floor to be sorted later because he really had to turn around and... Damn.

They both had the night off, which meant Greg was likely to be more playful than usual but this... this was new.

"What, not going to complement me on the outfit?"

Greg flounced up to the counter that divided the common area of their apartment, technically Gil's apartment but it hadn't been purely his for a long while, with a grin that ruined the effect of the words. His outfit was worthy of complement but Gil doubted that he'd be able to make any of his thoughts audible in the next hour or so, at least not until that outfit was on the floor and Greg firmly implanted in their mattress.

The shirt was ordinary enough, though meant for a girl. Sparkly pink letters on the baby-doll T proclaimed Greg a Princess. While Gil was certain that somewhere in the living fantasy that was Greg's head, Greg did consider himself a Princess, Gil wasn't sure he wanted to know of what... The shirt, given Greg's proclivity, was actually kind of normal. Not entirely normal, but kind of. On any other day, Gil would have seen the shirt, maybe blinked once or twice, then moved on.

What really did it for him was the skirt. It was a red-plaid pattern that reminded him of his childhood days, only this was childhood twisted back and bent over a school desk. Black lace rimmed the hem, a tiny spot of innocence that offset the sheer naughtiness of the whole ensemble. Black strips ran down the skirt at even intervals, studded with large metal hoops sewn throughout. A pair of studded suspenders, or at least that's what he took the strips of cloth for, hung down at Greg's thighs, also studded and attached to the metal hoops at Greg's waist.

Gil had been to Lady Heather's enough times to know exactly what those hoops were meant for, even if the skirt itself hadn't been manufactured for that purpose.

While Gil had been termed 'vanilla' by Greg's eclectic standards, the thought of doing to Greg what those hoops suggested sent a shiver down his spine.

"Greg..."

He wasn't quite certain he managed to convey the entire sum of his need in the utterance of Greg's name, but he was fairly certain that Greg figured it out when Gil moved around the counter to forcibly suck the life out of Greg with his tongue. Greg was all encouragement then, helpfully lifting a leg, cleanly shaven and feeling distinctly moisturized, when Gil's hands started to wander and grope.

The curve of Greg's ass was smooth under his palm. If he'd been younger and stronger, he'd consider picking Greg up right there and fucking him against the wall. Instead age and wisdom had its triumphs and he settled for pushing Greg down over the side of an armchair, feeling a small amount of thrill as the skirt rode up on Greg's raised ass. A hint of pink cotton was revealed beneath the play of fabric and Gil felt his eyebrow lift as he pushed the skirt aside to find a pair of distinctly feminine panties. High-end ones at that, that did relatively little to hide Greg's obvious arousal.

"Like what you see?" The grin was back on Greg's face, not that it'd ever strayed far from it.

A fleeting second's contemplation was all that he needed. "Yes, yes I do."

From this angle he could better appreciate the lacings that crisscrossed the back of the skirt. He considered undoing the neat bow-tie but the general naughtiness of the situation tempted him not to. Instead he slipped his fingers under the sides of the panties, pulling the fabric down to reveal his ultimate goal.

"Here." Greg passed him back of thin bottle, retrieved from some random hiding spot. At another time he might have wondered how many places around their apartment Greg had hidden lube, but right now he couldn't really fault Greg's logic.

Gil unzipped his pants, not even bothering to drop them the full way, just lowering them enough that Greg wouldn't have zipper impressions on his ass the next day, and then slicking up his hand then his cock with some of that fortunately provided lube. He didn't even give Greg warning, just grabbed his hips and pushed in like he had every right to, which given their relationship and the boundaries, or more precisely lack thereof, that they had set, he did.

It was heaven.

Greg on a normal day was sexy and passionate and the best partner he'd ever had the good fortune to fall madly and deeply in love with. Greg on a day like this was that with all the erotic passion of a lurid Harlequin rolled into one tight ass. This was sex with no equal because there was no way anything could be better than the roll of Greg's hips as Gil shoved his way in, or the loud keens that slipped from the back of Greg's throat as he clutched against the opposite armrest, or the tight heat squeezing all the way around him.

Gil watched it all, sharp eyes taking in every detail of the way Greg twisted and shuddered beneath him, ecstasy driving the younger man into a place past thought. He was tense, his back and shoulders a bundle of nerves as he waited, his body open wide for whatever pleasure Gil would take from it.

When Gil finally gripped Greg's hips tight as he shoved in, hard and fast one last time before he spilled himself inside Greg, cumming with a loud and primal shout, only then did Greg let himself go, his own seed dribbling down the side of the armchair in a lazy trickle.

He waited a few minutes, still buried hip-deep inside a now quivering Greg, while their breathing returned to normal and their hearts slowed down. Once he was back in control he slipped out, guiding Greg back to sit on the floor before pulling up his pants enough to walk in them. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table, cleaning both them and the armchair off before slinging his arms around a very melty Greg and navigating them both down the hallway to their bedroom.

As he rid them of their clothes, he made sure to fold the skirt and shirt neatly, placing them on top of the dirty clothes in their hamper. He could already foresee a shopping trip, possibly even a stop by Lady Heather's so they could add more, similar items to their stock.

Youth had Greg curled against him asleep in a matter of moments once the covers were settled over them. Gil took longer because his mind kept picturing Greg in the full Catholic school girl ensemble, then adding hoops and straps and a number of entirely unwholesome things. 


End file.
